


Baby, you got yourself into your own mess

by orphan_account



Series: We belong to the stars, so let the moon worry about itself [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is suprisingly good at getting the things that he wants without getting caught, Gen, M/M, Starfleet Academy, Stiles really needs to start thinking things through, The same cannot be said for Scott and Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You two, again?” he sighed. “I should have known.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, you got yourself into your own mess

**Author's Note:**

> Wilson Phillips and a _Teen Wolf/Star Trek_ fusion... um. _Yeah,_ I don't know, either. I wouldn't actually recommend listening to the song the lyrics of the title come from, but if you want to check out the lyrics, the title is _Hold On_.

In the final two years of Derek’s compulsory education, Laura’s enlistment, along with their family’s long history within the ‘fleet, entitled him to a position in the preparatory school connected to the Academy. Desperate for some form of distraction from his grief, and long set on following in the family tradition, he had taken the spot for the boon it was and ran with it.

The school had offered advanced courses with dual credit to the students either already bound for the Academy, or with suitably impressive test scores. In spite of the recent turmoil in his life, Derek was a certainty for the program on both counts. He attacked his studies with a ferocity that gained the attention of his peers and instructors alike.

The same could not be said for his social interactions. For the first few years after the fire, the only person he spoke to willingly was his sister and alpha, and even that occasionally took a good bit of prodding.

All this meant that two years later, when he finally arrived at Starfleet Academy, most of his entry level courses were over and done. Initially, he simply appreciated having the opportunity to bypass the more tedious courses, in favor of pursuing his focus. Later on, when he began serving on the _Torqua_ , he discovered a new reason to be thankful for his earlier single-mindedness: he never had the dubious honor of studying biochemistry under the eccentric and irascible Lieutenant Commander Harris, who, when he wasn’t terrorizing green cadets, was one of the science officers aboard the ship. His fellow officers had assured Derek that he should be grateful the security department had so little to do with the science department, as it meant as little time as possible spent with the Lieutenant Commander. On the handful of away missions fate had placed the two of them together, Derek had found himself fervently agreeing with the claims his peers made.

Harris’s lack of people skills precluded all hope of advancing within the ‘fleet. This, combined with Derek’s own rapid rise through the ranks, meant that it was not long before the science officer was taking orders from him, rather than the other way around. He was happy to say that interactions with the sallow, sullen man were made infinitely more bearable as his superior than they had been in the years before. That did not mean that he enjoyed them. In recent years, his position as First Officer had obliged him to spend hours in meetings with the man during missions, and it was nearly always an exercise in patience he hadn’t previously known existed within himself.

So it was that when he walked past the labs one night late in the fall, several weeks after the incident at the bar, he was not nearly as surprised as he should be to hear two students in the middle of pulling a prank on the man who, for the time being, was back to bringing students to tears. He debated for all of half a second over whether or not he could continue on by the labs, before his integrity kicked in.

Sometimes, he really hated having an ingrained moral compass.

He turned and took the sidewalk that diverted toward the building in question, stretching out his senses. For the most part, he could hear the elevation of their pulses, the occasional whisper, and the flutter of what sounded like actual paper, rather than PADDs. The chemicals of the lab and its neighboring buildings obscured the scents of the cadets somewhat, but they could not weaken the bonds he felt toward them. Werewolves, then. He supposed he should be grateful that he was the one who would be dealing with them, and it wasn’t as though he didn’t sympathize with the desire to exact a little retribution from the Lieutenant Commander for being a blight on the backside of life, but he really just wanted the young betas to stay out of trouble for more than weeks at a time.

At least this could function as a sort of training exercise.

The door to Harris’s lab opened with the barest hint of a hiss, and then he stalked forward, silently taking in the scene unfolding in the room which was normally blindingly white. Two boys, dressed in dark civilian clothing, worked by the light of twin storm lights, taping a series of papers to the board at the front of the lab. When he realized who they were, he wasn’t sure whether he should laugh at the irony, or rail at the unfairness. He had not signed up for this.

It wasn’t a pair of betas, after all. Oh, there was _one_ beta. His partner in crime, though, was decidedly human. “You two, again?” he sighed. “I should have known.” He really should have, but he hadn’t realized until then that the bond between him and his mate was strong enough to resemble the kind he had with the actual werewolves in the ‘fleet. Why would it be? They had only met one other time. Still, this wasn’t the time or the place to worry about the state of their bond. That could happen later, once this little tableau had been taken care of.

Together, Cadet McCall and Cadet Stilinski whirled around with identical expressions of horror. He feared for the future of Starfleet with prospective officers like these, truly. Especially in the case of Cadet McCall, who still had yet to learn how to integrate his heightened senses into his everyday life. He was an excellent wolf when he remembered to act like one, and utterly hopeless when he did not.

Derek predicted that Cadet Stilinski would be the one to recover first, as he seemed to thrive on untenable situations, and his prediction was validated shortly thereafter. “Dude! You couldn’t have warned me?”

“I didn’t know!”

His mate pulled a disgusted face at his cohort’s words. “What good is it having superpowers if you’re not actually going to use them? Two years, Scott. Two years of wolfdom, and you can’t even tell when another one of your furry friends is on the prowl?”

As amusing as it was to watch McCall flounder for some kind of response, Derek really did want to get some sleep tonight. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Cadet. You’ll have plenty of time to work on it. I hope you aren’t too attached to your Saturday mornings, because for the rest of the semester, you’ll be spending them with me.”

“But, Sir-”

“Your other option is for me to report this to your professor, and I promise that whatever he decides to do to you? Will be far worse than teaching you something you should have learned long before now.” He turned to pin his mate with a glare. “As for you, Cadet Stilinski, you can say goodbye to your Friday nights.”

“Wait, why am I not doing the Saturday thing?” he asked, curiosity warring with wariness.

“Because you won’t be learning the same things. I can’t help you hone something that isn’t there, so I’ll be teaching you self-defense.” He watched the cadet’s eyes grow wide.

After taking what would generally be considered far too long to look Derek over, in spite of the fact that this was their second meeting, his mate gulped and said, “You know what? I might actually fare better facing the wrath of Professor Harris.”

Derek raised his eyebrows, taking an exaggerated glance at the papers now littering Harris’s board. “Are you sure about that? Because that looks an awful lot like an exam, and the penalty for stealing a test at this Academy is expulsion.”

The already rapid pulse took off like a rabbit’s, and for a moment, his breath stopped completely. “Alright, then,” the cadet croaked after getting himself somewhat under control. “Self-defense it is. It’ll be great.”

“That’s what I thought,” Derek stated, doing nothing to conceal his smugness. There was no point in trying to pretend to be someone he wasn't with his mate, and it wasn't anywhere near the time to try to build a romantic relationship with him. He was still too young, too impulsive, and too much a student. All he planned to do in the time that Cadet Stilinski took to graduate from the Academy - and in spite of his penchant for trouble, Derek was determined to see that day realized - was watch over him and keep him safe. To that end, he flicked his eyes over toward Cadet McCall and told him, “Go straight to your dorm and stay there for the rest of the night. I’ll know if you don’t. Saturday morning, my classroom, 6am. Be there on time every week, and we’ll never discuss this night again. I’ll see that Cadet Stilinski gets back to his own dorm in one piece.”

McCall looked as though he felt tempted to assert his ability to look after his friend himself, but Derek glanced from the incriminating evidence he still held in his hand and back to his face significantly, and silently dared him to actually open his mouth. Ultimately, he nodded meekly and trudged out of the lab.

“So,” Cadet Stilinski said once his enabler was gone, “is this going to be a thing? You know, you pulling my fat out of the fire and then walking me home like I’m some damsel in distress? Um, not that I don’t appreciate it, since expulsion would suck beyond belief. Sir.”

Derek turned away from him and started taking down what had to be at least the first half of the pilfered exam. “I would say it didn’t have to keep happening, but since you can’t seem to stay out of trouble, I’d be lying.” He could practically _hear_ the cadet gaping at him indignantly, and he knew the moment that he shrugged and decided Derek actually had a point. Then he came up to stand next to him at the board, also working to remove the evidence.

“So, um. Why _are_ you doing this, Professor?” his mate asked once all the papers were collected.

“Why were you going to post Harris’s exam?” Derek countered, in the hope that it would distract him long enough to find a suitable answer.

“The guy’s a _douche_.” Abashed at his runaway mouth, he shut it tightly and waited a few beats before trying again. “Uh, anyway, the feeling’s pretty mutual, and he’s said more than once that he doesn’t expect me to be able to pass the midterm, so I decided to prove him wrong. Publicly.”

Derek took a moment to leaf through the pages, reading over some of the answers and trying not to grimace at the horrific penmanship. The grammar and spelling were above reproach, but the handwriting... the kid was lucky they lived in an age where almost everything was electronic. “Well, you would have proven him wrong, but I somehow doubt you would have enjoyed the victory for long. Wouldn’t you rather win by acing the test in a way that doesn’t end your career in Starfleet?”

He gave an odd sort of half-shrug, half-nod that somehow managed to avoid looking completely ridiculous. “Well, yeah, but I know for a fact he hasn’t been grading my work fairly. I mean, obviously he has to count all the multiple choice questions the same way - the computer checks those, and ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, computers don’t lie - but on the written stuff, he likes to skew things, deducting points for giving ‘too much information’ or counting off extra for things I get wrong compared to the other students. It’s blatant reverse favoritism, but I don’t want to report him because it’ll just make me look like I’m giving in.”

“And stooping to his level won’t?”

The cadet folded his own stack of papers and tried to grab both of the storm lights off of the desk he and his friend had set them on earlier. “Yeah, okay. I guess that’s fair.”

Watching his mate fumble with the lights, Derek huffed and took one of them, flipping the _off_ switch, since the artificial light wasn’t necessary for his enhanced vision. “Come on. We should get out of here before someone who actually works in this department gets curious.” He strode toward the door, pressing the release with the back of the hand holding onto the illicit papers.

From behind him, he could hear the cadet hurrying to catch up. “So, um. I guess I should say thank you for this, Sir. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t be in Starfleet, and I wouldn’t have a clue what to tell my dad. So, thanks.”

“Try and remember that the next time you feel like proving a point, and we’ll call it even.”

“So, does that mean I don’t have to learn self-defense?” the cadet asked, sounding as though he already pretty much knew the answer.

“Not a chance.”

…

His week had been long and exhausting.

Although he was grateful to Professor Hale for saving him from getting himself and his best friend expelled, having to listen to Harris every other day and keep his mouth shut was even more torturous than normal. Every once in awhile, he was forced to stop in the middle of doing a lab or taking notes on a lecture and take a few deep breaths. It didn’t make the utter loathing seething in his gut dissipate, but it did stop him from saying something he would eventually regret - not because a word of it would be untrue, but because he spent enough time getting chastised by the Commander of Cadets. He didn’t need to land himself with another visit so soon.

Now it was Friday night, and although he would typically be dressing to go out and relax at a nearby restaurant or bar, he was instead changing into the sweats he wore when he went for a run in the mornings before class. He reminded himself yet again that this would be infinitely preferable to the alternative, imagining the look of absolute disappointment on his dad’s face if he had to come home without any chance of returning, and that was more than enough.

His dad had been so proud when he was basically begged to attend at the Academy during his junior year of high school. He had accepted and been admitted early, and Jeremy Stilinski had walked around for the next two years looking lighter and happier than he had since his wife had been killed jumping in front of a stake aimed straight at the Vampire Queen’s unbeating heart. Mona Stilinski had been completely human, but even humans couldn’t live through having a sharpened piece of wood shoved through the throat.

Shaking memories of his mom away, he stood from his place on the floor where he had been tying his track shoes, and headed for the gym that served as Professor Hale’s classroom.

He arrived ten minutes early, but the professor was already there. The werewolf looked him over and nodded once in approval, before telling him, “Good. You’re here. That’ll give me more time to see what we’ll need to work on the most. First you’re going to warm up. Then, I want a hundred pushups, and don’t even think about half-assing them. After that, you’ll do a hundred sit-ups, and then you’re going to run a three miles.”

Stiles knew he was gaping unattractively, and couldn’t bring himself to care. “What? I thought this was supposed to be self-defense, not boot camp!”

The werewolf stared at him impassively. “What’s the point in teaching you the motions if you don’t have the strength and endurance to make them work? You still have nine extra minutes. Make them count.”

Swallowing, Stiles took the words to heart and started to loosen up. “I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

Glancing up, he saw Professor Hale quirk an eyebrow.

Yep. He was definitely going to shed his mortal coil.

At least it had been somewhat decent while it lasted.


End file.
